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“What do you think you’re doing?”
Toko Fukawa halted, her eyes like a deer caught in headlights.
“I-I was j-just making sure that no one follows y-you, Master Byakuya!”
He rolled his eyes. Byakuya felt particularly tired after another one of those class trials. Now they were down to seven. Three of his classmates were dead, not that he felt anything in particular towards them. But he grew increasingly frustrated with his own incompetence in discovering the mastermind’s identity. Celeste had been burned, and his skin felt gritty.
He needed to bathe immediately.
“Make yourself scarce. And do yourself a favor—take a shower! Your revolting odor is giving me a headache,” he said firmly, leaving her to her own devices.
What a joke, he thought. The only one who follows me is you…
Swiftly, he entered his room. With quick motions, his blazer and shoes were off. He glanced at his bed and wondered briefly if he would ever return to his own house. Realizing where his mind had wandered, Byakuya sighed. Maybe fatigue was getting the best of him.
He thought of removing the rest of his clothes, but one quick glance at the surveillance camera made him withdraw his hand from the hem of his pants.
He had grown accustomed to undressing in the bathroom, despite the fact that, more often than not, the shower left his clothes damp.
When he entered the shower, the water was warm — just the way he liked it. Normally, Byakuya would clean himself with methodical precision. However, he wasn’t feeling like himself.
He stood still under the water, his breath barely making it through the steam. His mind began to drift. Like melting ice, his consciousness slipped through his fingers, just like the water running down his palms and arms.
“I’m so sorry!” he heard someone’s voice. Or did he? It felt as if the sound reverberated through his brain, something like a fantasy, opening behind his closed eyelids.
He stood in front of the famous fountain of Hope’s Peak Academy, during a storm.
“Sorry for what exactly?” he asked, though deep down, he felt he already knew the answer.
“I couldn’t control myself… I couldn’t control her…”
He squinted, trying to make sense of what—or who—was speaking to him.
It was Fukawa, hunched near the fountain, clinging to the stone edge.
“I know I promised Makoto to keep her in check, but I failed. She went after a boy we had a crush on from my old high school. She killed him! And I’m going to be arrested.”
Byakuya grimaced, unsure of what to say.
“Does anyone else know about Jill?” His face was grave.
She sobbed quietly.
“Only you, Makoto, and Junko. You know that!” She became frantic. “I know what you're going to say. Yes, I was stupid to get found out by three people, but it wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t intentional!”
“Although it was quite idiotic of you, it’s true that it wasn’t your fault—it was Junko’s fault for tripping and scraping her knee. You’re lucky there were only four of us on that trail. I doubt Makoto will tell the police, and Junko’s too stupid to even think of using it against you.”
Toko raised her head, looking him in the eyes.
“What about you?”
A wave of indignation hit him.
“What?!”
“Will you tell the police? Will you use it against me?”
He approached her, his shoes now soaked.
“You seem to mistake me for those dunces you killed. I have no intention of putting a target on my back. Even though I’ve been intrigued by Genocide Jack’s archives for a long time, I have nothing to gain from your imprisonment.”
Fukawa scoffed and stood from her spot, mud dripping from her skirt.
“I don’t trust you. I-I can’t trust you! Every man I’ve ever trusted has disappointed me, stomped on my heart, treated me like trash and—”
He grabbed her shoulders.
“I don’t care what you’ve been through, and I don’t care how others have treated you. Stop whining and pull yourself together. I am Byakuya Togami, and I won’t stand to be compared to commoners. You should learn to dedicate your feelings to someone who won’t touch them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dedicate your life to someone who won’t reject you and won’t accept you. Do that, and keep living.”
Byakuya released her and turned to leave. The rain was getting heavier, the sound of water hitting the concrete deafening, as if to block out everything beyond their conversation. He needed to go—it was undignified to talk in the middle of a storm.
“Where exactly am I supposed to find someone like that?” Toko screamed at him.
He stopped, allowing himself a few seconds to ponder. Maybe simpletons weren’t capable of finding someone like that. But then again…
“That’s for you to figure out.” As he resumed walking toward the building, something tugged lightly at his blazer.
“P-please, let me d-dedicate myself to y-you!”
Byakuya’s eyes widened, heat rising to his cheeks. It was a good thing Fukawa, likely as blind as he was in her foggy glasses, couldn’t see his expression.
“What do I gain from this?” His voice was softer than he intended.
She stayed silent, a few groans escaping her throat.
“Do as you wish,” he said, walking away, quickening his pace.
And everything went black.
When Byakuya woke up, he was on the floor. It was likely that he had passed out. Why? He didn’t know. He stood up and looked at the shower—the water wasn’t running anymore. It was already nighttime. With no other option but to wrap himself in a towel and find another set of clothes, he left the cold bathroom. He moved slowly, perhaps still sluggish from lethargy, but not long after, Byakuya was dressed.
While collecting his clothes to bring them to the laundry room, the announcement that it was now 7 a.m. played. Maybe he was ill. Maybe this was some plot by the mastermind. It was probably that, given the hallucination—or was it a dream? He couldn’t say for sure. It certainly felt strange, like clearing a tiny bit of the fog. At the same time, it made no sense. There was no way it could be anything but a figment of his imagination. So he dismissed it.
He walked to the laundry room, tossed his clothes into the nearest empty washing machine, and headed to the dining room, where Asahina and Ogami whispered to each other. He couldn’t care less. Right behind him, Toko entered with a demented smile.
“Master Byakuya, y-you’re as handsome as ever!” she squealed.
“Shut up. I need silence right now. Make yourself useful and bring me my coffee.”
Toko sprinted to the kitchen, and Byakuya sat in his usual chair. Beyond the glass, the indoor garden received its daily watering from the sprinklers. Besides the artificial rain, the tapping on the window was pretty soothing. When Toko returned and stood by the pouring rain, her head framed by droplets, his heart clenched, and a feeling so new he couldn’t even name it swelled, yet felt so familiar.
“Just for today, you may eat beside me. Aren’t you grateful?”